Hot Puck (Rough Riders Hockey 2)
Eden stepped down into the room, and her gaze immediately latched on to the only bright spot—a bouquet sitting on the poker table. Her feet halted, and her chest squeezed.
“Holy shit,” she breathed. The arrangement was both elaborate and extravagant—a huge spray of lilies and lilacs, foxglove and delphinium, and more roses than she’d ever seen together at one time.
“Good Lord.” Tori’s voice broke into the fear clouding Eden’s mind. “That’s…ridiculous.”
Eden couldn’t make her feet move forward. Her heart pounded in her ears. Fear tumbled through her like a waterfall.
Tori slid a hand over Eden’s shoulder, and she flinched. Shame and anger heated Eden’s face, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. “Sorry.”
“Do you want me to open the card?”
Eden took a breath, then blew it out in a slow stream. Tears of fear burned her eyes. She threaded her fingers together and twisted her hands. Then she cleared her throat and said, “Please.”
Tori moved toward the flowers and searched among the blooms for a card. It would be just like John not to leave one. After all the bouquets he’d sent the morning after to smooth things over—as if flower petals could heal cuts and bruises and scars on her psyche—he knew she would assume they were from him.
Eden crossed one arm over her middle and lifted her other hand to the back of her neck. She threaded her fingers into her hair and ran her fingertips over the scar there.
Tori plucked a small white envelope from the middle of the bouquet. “Jeez, almost couldn’t find it in this forest.”
She tossed a nervous look at Eden, then tore the envelope and pulled out the small card. Eden closed her hands into fists, her gaze intense on Tori’s expression.
Her dark brows pulled down, and she shot a look at Eden. “You’re definitely not telling me something. Who’s…Beckett?”
The name hit Eden sideways. Beckett? Beckett Croft had sent her flowers?
That was even harder to believe than John finding a way to send them from prison. Croft had seemed too focused on the challenge of getting Eden to swoon over him to think outside himself. Even if he’d considered a thank-you gesture as patients occasionally did, a full week had passed since then, and he was already playing again. Eden had seen his return to the ice on the news.
She released a long breath of relief, but she was still shaky. “What does it say?”
Tori lowered her gaze to the card and read. “‘We had a rocky intro. I’d like a chance to show you my better side. I sometimes chill at Top Shelf after home games. Or call me for a more private meeting.’” She flipped the card over. “‘Our schedules probably aren’t overly compatible, but I’d love to sneak in a stolen moment with you.’” Tori read off a phone number. “And in parentheses underneath it says, ‘My personal cell. Please don’t share.’”
The knot in her gut unwound a little more, and Eden breathed easier. Her lips tipped up a little when she remembered Beckett’s lighter side once he’d been pulled away from the ice. Then heat stirred when she remembered his hard body, handsome face, and overwhelming confidence. Sure, she’d fantasized about him over the last week. Who wouldn’t?
“Sneak in a stolen moment?” Tori lifted her hands out to the sides with a what-the-hell look on her face. “What rocky intro? Beckett who? Why didn’t you tell me about this? He sounds ridiculously dreamy.”
He did sound pretty damned dreamy. And so did sneaking in a stolen moment with him. Until her mind filled with images of his brutality on the ice.
Eden really didn’t feel like rehashing her meeting with Beckett, but by the look on Tori’s face… She relented with a sigh. “He’s one of the Rough Riders. The one Gabe and I had to take in to the hospital.”
Tori opened her mouth to say something, but her gaze hazed over, and after a long, agonizing moment, she finally managed, “Oh…”
Eden had shared pieces of her traumatic past with Tori. She huffed a humorless laugh. “Exactly.”
Tori regrouped, pressed one hand to her hip, and tapped her chin with the corner of the card. “Well…” Tilting her head, she lowered her gaze to the floor, her brow pressed into a concerned frown. “Hmm…”
Their pagers sounded simultaneously. Eden was grateful for the distraction. “There’s one of my last five.” She pulled the pager from her belt and read the call. “Woman down, Dupont Circle.”
Tori passed Eden on her way toward the door and their ambulance beyond, holding the card out to her. “We’re not done talking about this.”
Eden stuffed the card into her pants pocket and followed, pulling up the address of their call on her phone along with potential routes to the location.
She climbed into the passenger’s side and fastened her seat belt as Tori pulled out of the garage. “Take 23rd to NW O to 20th. The whole freaking map is red tonight.”
“What else is new?” Tori flipped on the sirens while Eden took control of the radio, informing dispatch they were en route.
“You know he’s not John,” Tori said, continuing their conversation about Beckett as she sped down Q Street toward the heart of DC. “Just because he’s a hockey player doesn’t mean—”
“He’s an enforcer.” The last word felt so uncomfortable coming out of Eden’s mouth. “Gabe explained it to me. He’s the guy on the team who—”